“There are some who maintain,” said the physician, “that a part of the walls of the stern tower itself are of Roman origin; but that would surely be difficult to prove.”

“But, gentlemen,” observed the Baroness, “you are losing yourselves in learned descriptions as to the erection of the castle, and our guest is kept in ignorance of what he is anxious to hear.”

“Indeed, madam,” replied the chaplain, “this is not entirely foreign to the subject, since in the most ancient part of the building lies the chamber in question.”

“Where apparitions have been seen?” inquired Edward, eagerly.

“Not exactly,” replied the Baroness; “there is nothing fearful to be seen.”

“Come, let us tell him at once,” interrupted the Baron.  “The fact is, that every guest who sleeps for the first time in this room (and it has fallen to the lot of many, in turn, to do so,) is visited by some important, significant dream or vision, or whatever I ought to call it, in which some future event is prefigured to him, or some past mystery cleared up, which he had vainly striven to comprehend before.”

“Then,” interposed Edward, “it must be something like what is known in the Highlands, under the name of second sight, a privilege, as some consider it, which several persons and several families enjoy.”

“Just so,” said the physician, “the cases are very similar; yet the most mysterious part of this affair is, that it does not appear to originate with the individual, or his organization, or his sympathy with beings of the invisible world; no, the individual has nothing to say to it—­the locality does it all.  Every one who sleeps there has his mysterious dream, and the result proves its truth.”

“At least, in most instances,” continued the Baron, “when we have had an opportunity of hearing the cases confirmed.  I remember once, in particular.  You may recollect, Lieutenant, that when you first came in, I had the honor of telling you you were not quite a stranger to me.”

“Certainly, Baron; and I have been wishing for a long time to ask an explanation of these words.”

“We have often heard your name mentioned by a particular friend of yours—­one who could never pronounce it without emotion.”

“Ah!” cried Edward, who now saw clearly why the Baron’s name had sounded familiar to him also—­“ah! you speak of my friend Hallberg; truly do you say, we were indeed dear to each other.”

“Were!” echoed the Baron, in a faltering tone, as he observed the sudden change in Edward’s voice and countenance; “can the blooming, vigorous youth be—­”

“Dead!” exclaimed Edward; and the Baron deeply regretted that he had touched so tender a chord, as he saw the young officer’s eyes fill with tears, and a dark cloud pass over his animated features.

“Forgive me,” he continued, while he leaned forward and pressed his companion’s hand; “I grieve that a thoughtless word should have awakened such deep sorrow.  I had no idea of his death; we all loved the handsome young man, and by his description of you were already much interested in you before we had ever seen you.”